


The Pain Eases

by idreamtofreality



Series: Bargain Band-Aids and Scotch Tape [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, surprise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-10 22:30:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20535662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idreamtofreality/pseuds/idreamtofreality
Summary: As the years pass, Clark slowly gets used to the idea that Bruce is gone.





	The Pain Eases

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all wanted this when I posted the first part. Surprise! I had this the entire time

He doesn’t know how to function without him.

For the first few weeks, he barely even moves. It takes the power of one of the Green Lanterns to bring him back into the headquarters, and even then he still does nothing. He can’t stop listening, hoping that, by some miracle, he’ll hear Bruce’s heart again and then they’ll be together. He doesn’t even care about France anymore. He doesn’t care about traveling, or about being a hero, or anything else. He just wants Bruce back. He just wants to hold him again.

On the third week, Diana comes to sit next to him. For a long time, she doesn’t say anything. Then, after ten minutes: “He wouldn’t want you to do this to yourself.”

“Where did he go?”

“Away. He isn’t here anymore, Clark. He’s gone.”

“He didn’t just leave me. Where did he go?”

She hesitates. “He had a device that pulled all of the invaders into another dimension. Because he was so close, he was also pulled in.”

“So there’s a chance that he’s alive.”

She shakes her head a few times, expression earnest. “Clark, no. There isn’t. He told me that the machine would tear him apart—and, even if it didn’t, he wouldn’t want us to open the portal again and risk letting all of the invaders back onto earth. And besides.” She reaches over and takes Clark’s hand. “He didn’t want you to go looking for him. He knew it was a lost cause. He wanted you to move on.”

He yanks away. “How do you know all of that?”

“He told me. We talked about his plan after the meeting. He didn’t want anybody else to worry.”

“Why didn’t he tell me?”

Diana stands. Her posture, usually so strong and confident, seems to droop with every word Clark says. “Clark, what would you have done if you knew about it?”

He blinks. “I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. You would have offered yourself up for it and even if you had figured out how to assemble the machine to his satisfaction, it would have been you who disappeared. And Bruce would be left alone.”

“Would be better.”

Her gaze hardens. Clark has never seen her look so angry before. “Would it? You really think Bruce would be able to handle losing someone else? He’s lost so much already, Clark, and you would want him to lose more just so you wouldn’t have to live without him?”

“So what?” he snaps back. “You’re calling my grief selfish now?”

“No! Grieve all you want!” Diana throws an arm toward the window that overlooks the planet, so seemingly peaceful from far away, so empty of what really matters. “But you’re supposed to be protecting them! Don’t neglect them because you lost Bruce! They lost Batman, you know! They need you more than ever! The boys need you!”

For the first time, Clark remembers the family that Bruce left behind—Dick and Jason and Tim and Damian and Barbara. His stomach coils inside of him.

“Go to them,” Diana says. Her voice has softened again, and she reaches over to touch Clark’s cheek. “Stay with them for a few days. Grieve together. Then go back to saving the earth. Go back to reporting the truth for your city’s people. If you want Bruce to be remembered, write about him. Tell the people how important he was to the world. Tell the people how important he was to  _ you _ .”

[]

He goes down to earth, to Gotham City. Alfred opens the door slower than usual, and he stares at Clark for a good few minutes before he opens his arms and Clark, weak with tears, folds himself into them. Only moments later does he feel more arms envelop around them and Bruce’s legacy has him completely surrounded.

Afterward, Alfred makes them all tea. Clark sits in his usual spot with Damian curled up half on his lap and half on Dick’s, Tim pacing holes into the rug, and Jason standing by the door with his arms crossed. Nobody dares sit in Bruce’s usual spot, nor do they even look at it.

“Did you know?” Clark sips at the tea carefully. It doesn’t taste like anything. He doesn’t know if that was Alfred’s doing or if it’s the grief that makes everything taste this bland. “His plan, I mean. Did you know?”

“Sure.” It’s Jason that answers. On the outside, he’s the least affected, but Clark knows from the way his heart stutters that he’s tearing himself up inside. “He tells us plans like this. So we don’t lose it and go on a rampage or something when he up and disappears. Used to not, but…” He traces the butt of the gun at his hip.

“Do you know if he had any plans to return?”

“He always has plans to return.” Dick sounds exhausted. He’s likely spent much of his waking hours (if he’s gone to sleep since Bruce…left) consoling his brothers, especially Damian, the hair of whom he’s stroking periodically. “Might not be possible, but there’s a plan for every contingency.”

“So he might be alive.”

All four boys turn to look at him.

“He’s died before,” says Tim. “And he’s come back. But this...” He shakes his head. “I looked at the machine, Clark. It would’ve torn him apart. And if it didn’t, which I’m pretty sure it did, he’d be trapped in some other dimension. And he wouldn’t want us to get him.”

“I could defeat the invaders,” says Damian, huffy. “It wouldn’t be any problem for me.”

“Sure you could.” Dick smooths his hair down. “But that’s not what he would want. He would want you to keep being Robin—here, on  _ this  _ earth.”

Damian crosses his arms and turns his face into Dick’s chest.

“Diana—er, Wonder Woman said the same thing,” Clark says. “That he was either dead or trapped and didn’t want us to come get him.”

“We know who Diana is,” says Jason, and flips a knife around his hands. Clark eyes it—it looks a little green. It wouldn’t have kryptonite in it, would it?

“Could you replicate the machine, though?” He asks, and looks toward Tim. “Would you be able to build another one, but something that could transport us to the same realm? If I found the machine—”

Tim interrupts him: “I could. But I won’t.”

“What? Why not?” 

He stops pacing for a moment to give Clark a look he didn’t think a teenager was capable of making. “He wouldn’t want me to. And, tactically, it doesn’t make sense. If he was alive, you really think he would want us to risk putting the invaders back on earth for him?”

Clark sulks. “I’ve heard it all before.” 

“So why do you keep asking?” Jason comes closer and, by the way Clark’s brow starts to sweat, there is definitely at least some kryptonite in that knife. “Listen,” Jason says, “If he’s alive and there’s a way to get out of there that won’t put anyone in danger, Brucie will find it. He’s a tough sonuvabitch and we all know it.” 

“We all  _ hope  _ as much, Master Jason,” Alfred corrects as he refills all of their cups. He turns to give Clark a rather fatherly look. “Don’t go wasting time trying to figure out a way to save him. You know as well as I do that Master Bruce would be disappointed you all are not doing anything productive with your time. Who is defending Gotham right now?” 

“Barbara,” says Tim.

“Is she, Master Tim?”

Tim shrugs. 

“She’s actually in the batcave still. Perhaps one of you should check on her.”

Tim sprints away and Jason raises an eyebrow after him. “You know, I think even the crooks are mourning. There isn’t really any crime to stop, Alfred.” 

Alfred’s hands shake when he puts the kettle back onto the platter, but he straightens his gloves as if nothing happened. “There must be something, Master Jason.” 

Jason studies the old man for a good few seconds, then nods and reaches for his helmet. “Okay. I’ll go look for something. Dick, wanna go rouse up some trouble?” 

“If Damian wants to come.” 

“I do.” 

The boys all leave the room together, and Clark watches them with a sinking pit in his stomach.

“How do they do it?” he asks Alfred. “Bruce was their father. How do they all move on without him?” 

“Master Clark.” Alfred, for the first time since Clark’s met him, takes a seat on the couch right next to where Bruce used to sit. He caresses the empty cushion with the look of a broken-hearted man. “We all loved him very much. He was their father and he was...my son. There is no way any of us can move on without him. But he taught us to be strong. Every day he got out of bed, he reminded us what it meant to be strong. It is high time you understand that, too, Master Clark. Being strong doesn’t mean forgetting who you’ve lost, or even finding the right way to respect their memory. Being strong means you keep fighting every day you can lift your fists, because that is what the world demands of you, and that is what you will give. Surrender is never an option. Not to the enemy, and certainly not to grief or despair. We must learn to live without him, and though the holes with which he left us may never fill, that does not mean we can ever stop being strong, as we would have for him if he were still with us.”

Clark doesn’t want to be strong. He’s been strong his whole life.

Silently, he stands. Alfred doesn’t move from where he has his hand on that empty cushion, tears slipping down the wrinkles of his cheeks.

He lifts off the ground and flies away without another word.

[]

In the first year, he tries to get his life back together. He goes back to Metropolis. He explains to about fifteen different people that he had to go to a funeral on short notice after the invasion and that’s why he was gone for so long. He brings back a couple stories to make up for it, and everybody takes him back without another word.

He visits the manor only once a month, and that’s just to check on everyone to make sure they’re still okay. Sometimes he thinks about asking if they need anything, and then he remembers that they’re all of them richer than he will ever be (especially now that Bruce is gone) and shuts his mouth. A few times, Dick has offered for Clark to take one of the rooms so he doesn’t have to pay rent anymore, but he can’t stop seeing shadows of Bruce in the hallways and, anyway. The only reason he would have ever stopped living in Metropolis is if he was living with Bruce.

He lives on automatic. Everything is the same thing. In his job, he stops caring about taking necessary precautions to disguise himself and Lois has to work extra hard to cover his tracks. Crime, for the first time since Superman made his first appearance, goes up, but he fights it down to an all-time low.

[]

In the second year, he starts to forget what Bruce’s genuine smile and laugh are like. He watches any videos of Bruce Wayne he can find, but most of what comes up are “in remembrance” videos, mourning a man who tragically lost his life in the invasion, and anything beyond that is just fake. Bruce laughing to please a reporter. Bruce smiling to make someone feel easier. No, he only really smiled around Clark or his family or, if he was in an especially good mood, around the League.

He goes crying to the manor, and Barbara lets him in with a sad smile. Everyone squeezes onto the couch in the movie room and they watch home videos until Clark’s eyes droop and everyone else is ducking out to fight crime.

The one thing that he can remember in absolute clarity is his heartbeat: strong. Steady. Honest. Even when he was lying, somehow it remained almost exactly the same. It was unique in how much it comforted Clark. If he closed his eyes, he could just make it out like it was actually out there, somewhere in the world, waiting for Clark to find it again.

[]

In the third year, he’s finally stopped crying himself to sleep. He doesn’t feel as numb anymore. He apologizes to Lois and tries a little harder to keep track of his secret identity.

[]

In the fourth year, he gets a promotion. The medallion feels fake between his fingers. He wishes he could take it home to someone. He wishes he could celebrate with someone over a glass of wine. 

[]

In the fifth year, he finally goes to France. He takes a vacation by himself and flies out there on a plane. The Waynes all offered their jet, but Clark refused. He wasn’t sure what would be worse: if the plane smelled like Bruce, or if it didn’t. Either way, he hasn’t been to the manor in at least six months so he doesn’t have to find out whether the house smelled like him or not too.

He gets to France. He puts a lock on the bridge. “K&B” he writes. That is all. It is lost amongst the hundreds of other locks, and he walks away with his hands deep in his pockets.

[]

In the sixth year, someone finds the machine. They identify it as the piece that took away the invaders and lock it up in a precinct. The same night, it mysteriously disappears. Clark puts it in his apartment and waits for something to happen. Nothing does.

[]

In the seventh year, Clark gets another promotion. He smiles for the cameras. Clark Kent is getting rather famous. He wasn’t supposed to. He doesn’t feel right here.

[]

In the eighth year, he does some spring cleaning and finds a note from Bruce--well, from Batman. It’s simple. It just says “People watching. Meet me @ signal.”

Clark touches the handwriting.

The note had been from when they were fighting some sort of secret agency. They barely knew each other. Clark was a little scared of Batman, and Batman didn’t trust him. It would take years for them to finally set aside their differences, and only a year after that for them to start dating.

He touches the handwriting again. He tries to remember what it was like to receive love notes in this handwriting. He would’ve kept them, but he’d assumed that they would have years and years of love notes. Why would he have kept them? He got to see Bruce any time he wanted. There was nothing holding them back. There never had been.

And now, all he had was this little piece of paper, the words of which had started to blur with the tears that were falling from Clark’s eyes.

He took one of the frames that held his certificates and framed Bruce’s note instead. It went by the bed and he stared at it each night until he fell asleep, trying to imagine the words that wrote them.

[]

In the ninth year, it’s the Waynes that come to visit him. They are all dressed in their uniforms--even Barbara, who’s getting a piggy-back ride from Jason.

“Hey, Clark,” Jason says. He’s getting so old. He’s well into his twenties, now. Clark almost didn’t recognize him--nor did he recognize Damian, who stands tall and lean and dark in the shadows of Clark’s room, completely silent and also completely deadly. “What do you say we have a night out? All six of us?” 

“I’m tired,” Clark says, “And I don’t operate at night.” 

“Oh, pshaw,” says Barbara. “You think there isn’t any crime at night? There’s a robbery on ninth that just started. Let’s go.” 

“Go take care of it yourself.” 

“We don’t know where that is,” says Dick. He’s not wearing a mask--no, he’s wearing some sort of gray t-shirt. Clark had heard somewhere that he’s a spy, now. What’s he doing here? “Also, Jason is really kind of weak and is having a hard time carting Babs everywhere. What do you say? We do all the work, and you can hover nearby with Babs and get some fresh air.” 

Clark rubs his face. “Why are you all even here?”

“Well, see, Superman hasn’t made any appearances in a while. We were getting worried.” 

“There isn’t much that can kill me.”

“I could kill you,” Jason points out. Clark gives him a look.

“Why don’t you try?”

“Eh. I’m not in the killing mood right now.” 

Nobody gives him a weird look for this. Clark hasn’t seen them in a  _ long _ time, has he?

“It’s been four years,” says Tim. His face is leaner and his hair is shorter, but he largely looks the same. “Since you’ve seen us, I mean. Let’s just spend some time together.”

Damian speaks for the first time that night: “It is what Father would want.” 

Clark takes a deep breath. “Fine. Just for tonight. I’m thinking about hanging up the cape.” 

Nobody responds to this, which is nice. They just nod and step out while Clark changes into his Superman persona and then slips out the window, taking Barb from Jason and flying along with everybody else while they swing through the city. The robbery doesn’t take long to stop, especially since there are four people all trained by Batman against one robber. 

“What about Gotham?” Clark asks. 

“Gotham?” asks Dick. “Gotham’s fine. Lowest crime rate we’ve had in centuries. Guess that’s what happens when you have four ruthless Robins going after all the criminals. Batman’s one thing, but a Robin who’s lost his Batman? Now, that’s really somethin’ to be afraid of.”

The thought makes Clark sick to his stomach. He helps Barbara back onto Jason’s back and flies back to his apartment, not curling into his blankets but rather around the toilet. He heaves but nothing comes out.

[]

In the tenth year, he goes to France again. He finds the lock on the bridge and cries at it for a good few hours, and then he flies back home. He doesn’t bother buying a plane ticket. If someone wonders why Superman is in France, hell. Let them wonder.

[]

The next decade is much the same. He goes through the motions. His life is finally back together. It’s in the nineteenth year that he finally feels comfortable enough to smile--really smile--again. It’s in the twentieth year that he remembers how to laugh.

He smiles because he finds a picture of him and Bruce--or, at least, one of the boys drops it off for him. He laughs because Lois invites him out and they go to a funny movie. He is almost happy without Bruce. Almost.

[]

In the twenty-fifth year, he finally retires. He goes to his parent’s farm and he takes it over, buying more animals and planting more crops. He’s a simple farm boy again. It’s farther for Bruce’s kids to travel, but it’s certainly not harder with the kind of money they still have. Alfred’s funeral is that year. Everyone comes to stay at Clark’s house and he cooks them pancakes for breakfast. They all say that they’re living happy lives now, but they’re losing everyone, too. Clark knows how easy it is to fake happiness. 

“Surprised he lasted so long,” says Damian, and as always his deep voice surprises Clark.

“Don’t say that,” says Dick. He’s got lines on his face already: the demand of his life has caused irreparable damage. 

“It’s true. He shouldn’t have lasted so long--especially since Father died so long ago.” 

Pain wrenches through Clark’s body, but it isn’t as powerful. He’s almost able to ignore it.

“He stayed alive for us,” says Barbara. “And when he thought we were all happy enough, he passed away.” 

“Still.” Damain shoves a big bite of pancake in his mouth and speaks while he’s still chewing: “He was old as shit.” He reaches down and combs his fingers through the hair of the dog that sits at his feet. 

No one comments on what Damian’s said. They’re all mourning in their own way: Damian is dealing with anger. Jason hasn’t even come down the stairs yet. They all had their ways of coping.

“What are the plans for you, old man?” asks Tim, poking a fork in Clark’s direction. “Just gonna farm for the rest of your life?” 

Clark pulls open the curtain so sunlight streams into the dining room. “That’s the plan.” 

“Is that what you would’ve done if dad were still alive?” 

He’s quiet for a moment. He doesn’t always like talking about Bruce, but if one of the kids (well, they aren’t really kids) asks, he’s willing. “Yes,” he says finally, “Yes, I think so. If Bruce agreed. We only talked about retiring a few times, and I think he would have discussed it with all of you first.” 

“Would have been fine with any of us,” says Damian. “I would have taken over the company still, obviously.” 

“Bullshit,” Dick laughs. “You were, what, ten?” 

“Well, I’m doing just fine now!” 

“Yeah.  _ After _ you went to college.”

None of them are heroes anymore, at least not actively, and not in masks. They are all still heroes in their own right--they are all still doing good for the city, that is--but they are no longer Robins and Barbara is no longer Oracle, just as Clark is no longer Superman. Others have taken up the title and continued the legacy, and they are all just fine with that.

“And even after college,” Tim adds, “You still need our help.” 

“I would do just fine if you would butt out!” 

“Ah, horseshit.” Jason’s finally coming down the stairs, looking exhausted. The white in his hair is now accompanied with white in other parts of his head, which is a strange concept for someone who had been a teenager in Clark’s eyes for so long. “If I had known how much you were going to call me asking for business advice, I would’ve gladly died again.” 

Clark serves them all more pancakes.

[]

In the thirtieth year, he sits by himself on his front porch. He has aged, but not by much. It must be the kryptonian blood in him or something, but he is aging far too slowly. How long does he have to live without Bruce? How much longer does he have to keep going, keep trying?

[]

In the thirty-fifth year, he’s making sweet tea like he remembers his parents used to make it. In the oven, an apple pie goldens to crispy perfection. There is a knock at the door, and he calls out for them to wait a second so he can pull the pie out of the oven.

At the door, he prepares himself to smile big for the boys. He opens it up.

An older man, tired and distinguished, smiles at him.

“Any of that pie for me?” 

Slowly, the shape of the man registers. His eyes. His hands. His posture. The steady beating of his heart. That  _ smile _ .

Clark’s voice is shaking. “Bruce?” 

[]

In the next months after that, Bruce tells him everything. He thought he had died, but he’d been transported with everybody else. He lived in that other world for so long, fighting for his life every day, hiding in cramped holes for safety while he slept. After ten years of this, he finally figured out how to defeat them, and he did. He defeated all of them. He defeated all of them and then he built a machine to bring himself back home.

“How old are all of my kids?” he asks, eyes eager and sad all at once.

“They’re grown,” says Clark, putting his hand over Bruce’s. “They’re grown, but they’re happy. You haven’t contacted them?” 

“I wanted to see you first.”

[]

In the next few minutes, Bruce has contacted all of his children. It only takes an hour for them to get there. They’re all laughing and crying--Bruce is crying more than all of them put together. He holds Damian to his chest--a grown man, but Bruce is still powerful enough to keep him in one place and sobs about how grown-up and handsome and mature he is: “You’re running the company now? Clark says you’re doing so well!” and he weeps over Dick and how old he’s gotten and how successful he is and how happy he and his family are and he envelops Jason until the man can’t breathe and cries for a good half-hour at how happy he is that Jason’s finally found his peace and he grabs Tim very tightly and yells “You’re grown! Look at you! I bet Ra’s al Ghul himself cowered at your feet by the time you were done!” and Tim blushes deep red and all of the boys whoop that “Guess that’s why they called you Red Robin, Drake!” and Barbara he holds until he’s run out of tears and his voice is hoarse from telling her how much he loves her.

They don’t live with Clark, but they all seem to show up a lot more often, after that.

[]

Bruce is okay with being dead. He doesn’t want to make any announcements. He contacts the League, but they all agree that he deserves rest after everything he’d been through. He and Clark live happily. Bruce only has nightmares the first couple nights, but when he gets used to Clark holding him and Clark gets used to holding him again, they’re both fine. They’re both happy.

They live together. They die together. And that is all Clark ever wanted.


End file.
